


Object Of Obsession

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempt at Humor, But Underage Curiosity, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, In The End He Will Be, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, No Underage Sex, POV Mycroft Holmes, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Protective Mycroft, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sherlock Being Annoying, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is a Size Queen, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 11:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock develops a deep interest for a certain part of Mycroft's anatomy early on and he never loses it. Mycroft refuses until… Sherrinford...





	Object Of Obsession

## Sherlock 6, Mycroft 13

“What is this, Mycroft?” Sherlock's blue-green eyes were as big as saucers.

“Sherlock! Why do you just come in here; didn’t you hear I was under the shower?!” Why hadn't he locked the door? Ah, yes – because usually nobody just stormed into this room when it was obviously occupied!

Sherlock didn’t look guilty at all. “I did but… I need to pee! It's urgent!”

“There are two more bathrooms in this house!”

“Yes but they're so far away! So what is that?”

“Sherlock, don't be silly, you have that, too. Or with what were you about to pee?” Mycroft blushed at these words, not exactly knowing why. Sherlock was a curious boy after all, a boy who wanted to know basically _everything_ so this was just one more example of him being nosy and intrusive and completely unaware that he was embarrassing his brother.

“I do but it doesn’t look like yours.”

“That's because you're a little boy. When you grow, it will grow, too…”

“But yours is huge!”

“Well, I don't know and I don't care.” Mycroft grabbed his clothes and hurried out of the bathroom. He couldn’t have this conversation with his little brother. When he walked past the large mirror in the hallway on his way to his chamber, he got a glimpse at his sadly chubby body, his probably not that small penis and his reddened cheeks.

## Sherlock 14, Mycroft 21

“Oh… Sherlock… Good evening. I didn’t hear you knock…” Mycroft, naked except for his undershirt, tried and failed to fetch his pyjama trousers; he stumbled in his hectic efforts and almost fell over. _Great…_

“I didn’t,” Sherlock said without a hint of apology in his voice. He wasn’t looking into Mycroft's eyes but not out of shame about his intrusion. His eyes were simply busy staring at something else…

“Sherlock…” Finally Mycroft managed to put on his trousers, foregoing fetching fresh underpants from his open travel bag. He had come home for Christmas and it had become rather late. He hadn't seen Sherlock since he'd arrived as his brother hadn't left his room to greet him – not because of malice but because he had been tied up in an experiment and hadn't been to be disturbed.

And now he was looking, no, _staring_ [with scientific interest? _Oh please let it be that…_ ] at what Mycroft had just managed to conceal a bit – it was still obvious enough under the thin, silky fabric. “It's become bigger. Much bigger,” he said matter-of-factly, obviously referring to their conversation from no less than eight years ago as if he just expected Mycroft to recall it.

And damn – he did…

“Well, yes. I was not an adult by then,” Mycroft mumbled. “It won't get any bigger, don't worry,” he added, not knowing why and blushing.

“I bet it does. When you touch it.” Sherlock let this bomb drop without even changing his tone or expression. But he licked his lips and it was most disconcerting.

“Sherlock!”

Now his little brother was all surprised eyes. “What? You don't do that? I thought everybody does. And since you have so much to play with…”

He wasn't having this conversation with his fourteen-year-old brother, was he?

“I do not wish to discuss this with you,” he said stiffly and almost rolled his eyes at how prudish and silly he sounded.

“Fine. I do it.”

“What?”

“Masturbate. Mine has grown a lot. It's not quite as big as yours was back then and of course not by far as big as it is now. But it grows _spectacularly_ when I rub it.”

Mycroft sank down on his bed, feeling weak and as far out of his depth as anyone could be. “That's… interesting…” he mumbled, not even knowing what he was saying.

“It is, yes!” Sherlock beamed at him. “When I pull at my balls with my left hand when I pump it with my right one, I get the biggest eruptions. Do you do that, too?”

Mycroft swallowed and then he stiffened in horror when he realised that he was… stiffening… Hastily he slipped under his blanket. “Um… No.”

“You're lying. I can tell when you're lying.”

Damn himself for teaching Sherlock how to make deductions… “I… I'm tired and so must you be. Go to bed, please.”

Sherlock shrugged and turned around. “I'll wank now and I'll be thinking of your large dick when I do it,” he said before slipping out of the room, leaving an open-mouthed and wide-eyed and completely terrified Mycroft behind.

Mycroft didn’t find any sleep in this night and not just because he could hear Sherlock moan and eventually cry out his name from three rooms away – thank God their parents were not sleeping on the same floor... He simply didn’t dare close his eyes because whenever he tried, in his mind's eye he could see his baby brother masturbate while thinking about his damn dick and it did very strange things to him.

## Sherlock 21, Mycroft 28

“Oh, Sherlock. Why did you have to do that?” With deep concern Mycroft looked at his little brother, who wasn't little anymore. In fact he was old enough to take every drug he could get his hands at. “Come, get up, let's get you out of his hell hole…” The room smelled disgustingly and it didn’t look any better.

“Mycroft?” Sherlock looked up to him with dazed eyes. No – drugged eyes…

“Yes. Let's… What are you doing?!” Sherlock couldn’t be trying to open his zipper, could he? “Let that be!”

“Want to touch you… Always wanted to touch you,” Sherlock mumbled, his face pressed against Mycroft's chest. His hands had ceased fumbling with his zipper, instead roughly grabbing his penis through his clothes.

“Stop that! Get up!” Mycroft manhandled his brother onto his shaking legs and dragged him towards the door. It had been a bloody nightmare to find him and it wasn’t getting any better.

When he had somehow got Sherlock into the car and fastened his seat belt, he drove off with his lips pressed together. Sherlock was sitting on the passenger's seat, his head lolling around, his eyes closed. “Can't fool me,” he mumbled when Mycroft was sure he had fallen asleep.

“Shut up, Sherlock.”

But of course he didn’t. He had never done, had he? “You got hard.” And then he did fall asleep, leaving it to a horrified Mycroft to bring him to a hospital while he was trying not to think of how quickly he'd reacted to the shameless touch of his baby brother.

## Sherlock 30, Mycroft 37

“Hello, Sherlock. Mummy asked me to bring you this.”

Sherlock, standing in the door of 221B Baker Street, raised his eyebrows. “She could have just sent it by post.”

“She could have, yes. But she doesn’t trust them.” So she had given it to him when he'd been visiting them for Christmas. Sherlock hadn't bothered showing up.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Come in then.”

“Where's John?”

“Working in the clinic. Cases are rare at the moment.”

“Hm, I see. Wish I had one for you but wait – you would have only refused to take care of it…”

“And then solved it behind your back.”

Damn… That was true… He could have asked Sherlock why he did that but he really didn’t want to. “So – Mummy's present. Happy birthday, little brother.” He handed over the rather big but light package, without a doubt containing items of clothing.

Sherlock set it aside without bothering to open it up. “Thanks. Tea?”

Mycroft was surprised but he nodded. “Yes. That would be nice.”

“I don't have any cake.”

Mycroft sighed. Back on normal grounds after all… Strange… Sherlock had never teased him with his weight when he had really been overweight. Now that he was rather slim Sherlock seemed to find it necessary to mock him with it.

Resentments. All of these touchy subjects were resulting from resentments.

Touchy subject, ha. Not a good expression at all… He sat down on the couch and waited for Sherlock to come back with the tea. “Mrs Hudson not here?” he asked loudly.

“No. Said something about visiting her bridge ladies. They don't know it, you know. When my birthday is.” Sherlock walked back into the living room, carrying a small tray.

“Why ever not?” These were Sherlock's friends after all. Lestrade. Mrs Hudson. This Hooper woman. And of course John Watson.

Sherlock managed to shrug while he was pouring tea into the cups. “Don't want them to know it. Don't want any fuss.”

Yes, Mycroft understood the sentiment. He hated to be reminded of his birthday as well. Only his parents did though. Sherlock never paid any attention to it. He never paid any attention to _him_ anymore…

It should be a relief after these strange, disturbing moments, long ago. But… somehow it wasn't.

They had drifted apart more and more after he had sent Sherlock to rehab against his will. It hadn’t even helped him. Only the cases had finally made it better.

Sherlock sat down next to him, ignoring his chair, and suddenly Mycroft thought he should have chosen to sit in John's chair instead. Sherlock's closeness was… unsettling.

“So, brother mine,” Sherlock whispered. “What is _your_ gift to me?”

“I… Um… Oh no…” Mycroft stared down at his crotch, more precisely at Sherlock's beautiful long fingers, brushing over his bulge. Why had he chosen such tight trousers? He could see the bulge grow against the stroking fingers; it was impossible to look away. He felt like being hypnotised… by his baby brother who was just touching him like no brother should do!

“No, Sherlock! Stop this! You can't go on with this!” He thought Sherlock had long forgotten about it. And he had been glad, hadn't he? _Had he…?_

“Why not? We're all alone. Nobody will come here now.”

“That's not the point! We're brothers! We can't do such things!”

Sherlock's disturbing eyes were boring into his. “Interesting. You didn’t say you don't want it, just that we shouldn’t do it.”

“That's all the same!”

“No, it is not.” Sherlock's look got more and more mesmerising; he seemed to be determined to dig in Mycroft's very brain. “Tell me - tell me that you've never fantasised about me, about my body, about doing sexual things with me. Tell me that you don't desire me and I will never touch you again. But remember – I can see it when you're lying.”

Mycroft was panting now, overly aware of his throbbing erection under Sherlock's never-stopping ministrations. He opened his mouth to say that no, he did _not_ desire him, but no word came out. And of course it would have been pointless anyway…

Sherlock smiled and it was a malicious smile. “See. You _do_ want it.”

 _Yes!_ “But we can't _do_ it!” Mycroft yelled. “It's wrong and forbidden and…” And then Sherlock shut him up with a kiss that set his entire body on fire. And for a moment, he kissed him back feverously, clutching at him, pressing Sherlock's _oh-so-plush_ arse. And then he jumped up, pushing him away. “No! I can't! I… love you too much to do that.” And with this he ran out of Baker Street as if the devil had tried to seduce him.

In fact it would have been an improvement if it really had been the devil… The devil could never be so desirable, tempting, smart, irresistible and simply wonderful as his little brother was.

## Sherlock 36, Mycroft 43

Mycroft was standing at the window of his living room, a cigarette in his hand that he had forgotten to smoke, staring out into the darkness as if it could offer enlightenment and comfort in this night of enormous, unforgivable failure.

He had almost lost his little brother in this night. Instead of shooting him as he'd have deserved it, his reckless baby brother had pointed that bloody gun at himself.

No words could describe the shock that had hit him when he had seen that. He had been unable to move, unable to even say anything. He had watched and listened to Sherlock counting down from ten, getting closer and closer to dying for Mycroft's sodding mistakes.

When the police officers had come to the cell Eurus had brought him to after sedating him as well, he had been almost crazy with fear Sherlock could still have died. He had seen him falling backwards, losing the gun, but he'd still been at Eurus' mercy and there was no doubt she didn’t have any.

He had almost tumbled from relief when he'd been told Sherlock was alive. And he had told Inspector Lestrade later on that he was fine and didn’t need any help or whatever the man had been about to offer, sent by Sherlock.

He wasn't hurt Sherlock had not come himself. Why ever should he? Mycroft had pushed him away time after time. He had done so for good reason but after tonight, he couldn’t remember them anymore.

He had been so close to losing Sherlock forever. His heart, that he had even denied possessing just a few hours ago, lay open with pain and all the sentiments he had refused to show, to even have. He had told Sherlock he loved him when Sherlock had tried last to seduce him. But back then he had not understood how much his brother meant to him. How much he had always loved him, from the little boy with the never-ending questions to the troubled drug user to the clever detective to the man who had so brilliantly turned Eurus' game against her tonight, making sure they would get out alive, all three of them.

His love for his little brother was limitless, in both size and range. He loved the memories of the little boy and he loved and yes, _desired_ the man he had become. But it was too late now, wasn't it? Sherlock wouldn’t want him anymore. He was a complete and utter failure, endangering his life like this, allowing Eurus to break loose and play her deadly games.

He cursed when the cigarette burnt his fingers and hurried to put it in the ashtray. And then he tensed when he heard a creaking noise. He knew his house. He wasn't alone anymore.

Stupidly, his first thought was: Jim Moriarty. The second one: someone else Eurus had sent to finish what she had started. But then he realised how silly that was: if Eurus had really wanted to see him dead, she would have had enough opportunity to take care of this in Sherrinford.

So he kept standing at the window and didn’t turn around when the steps came closer.

“You were smoking.”

Mycroft smiled wryly. “Not really. After one pull I forgot about it and burnt my hand.” He shuddered when a body was pressed against his back.

“Show me.”

He lifted his hand and long, warm fingers wrapped around it. Then it was pulled higher and he closed his eyes when soft, damp lips pressed a kiss onto the reddened skin, cooling the burn he had just ignored.

“You need to take better care of yourself, brother mine.”

“What for? I'm a…”

“Stop it. I knew you'd blame yourself.”

“Well, that was an easy guess. It was all my…”

“No it wasn't. It was her choice and they failed to contain her. You gave the right orders but you were not there to control if they were obeyed.”

“I should have….”

“No. I know you're a control-freak but you can't control everything and everybody.”

“Stop interrupting me all the time!” 

Sherlock chuckled against his neck and Mycroft's entire body shivered at the sound, the feeling and the warm breath on his skin. And then he was embraced from behind and he waited with bated breath whether Sherlock's hand would slide southwards. It didn’t.

Sherlock was just holding him in a tight embrace and nothing had ever felt so good. Eventually Mycroft raised his uninjured hand to put it on Sherlock's and as a reaction his brother squeezed him a bit tighter.

They didn't speak anymore for a while, just standing together, body on body, until Mycroft turned around. “You're forgiving me?” He wasn't just talking about Sherrinford and they both knew it.

Sherlock smiled for a moment before he got serious again. “There is nothing to forgive, big brother. When we were there – I saw that… I saw that you… love me.”

“Of course I love you. I've always loved you. I just thought I shouldn’t love you like this…”

“You were always the one of us to follow the rules.”

Mycroft smiled. “While you didn’t give a damn for them and broke them all the time.”

“Yes. Life is much more interesting like this, believe me.”

“I do. At least in this case…”

Sherlock gazed into his eyes. “Are you sure? Are you sure you want to go down that path? Because if we do that, there's no turning back.”

“I know. Perhaps that was what I was afraid of the most. That if I gave in, you would take what you want and then leave me when it got boring.”

Sherlock shook his head. “That will never happen. You know why?”

“Because I'm the most interesting man on earth?” Mycroft said with just a hint of bitterness.

Sherlock snorted. “You are. To me. We are the same, Mycroft, in more ways than you'd like to admit. And nobody else understands me like you do. Nobody else has supported me like you do. But apart from that…” He lightly brushed over Mycroft's crotch, and it was enough already to make Mycroft get plump in his pants. “That was never what I actually wanted. Well, I _do_ want it, of course. I might have developed a bit of an obsession for it…”

“I'd have never noticed.”

“Shut up!” Sherlock grinned at him and it was so easy to smile back. “I do want to do everything with this.” He poked at Mycroft's bulge. “But… What I really always wanted was your heart, and today you offered it to me. But in which way! Did you really think for just a second I would fire at you?”

Mycroft shrugged. “In the beginning – yes. I thought you hate me for rejecting you time after time.”

“You just rejected me for my own good and because you're simply a good boy.”

“Thanks…”

Sherlock chuckled. “I didn’t mean to sound condescending. Anyway… You offered me your heart and I'm here because I've always wanted it.”

“It's always been yours. All of me is yours.”

And then Sherlock finally bent forward and kissed him and at first it was clumsy and messy as Sherlock had never kissed anyone like this before and Mycroft hadn't done so for at least fifteen years but soon they melted into each other's mouth, transporting love and care and desire, and then Mycroft took Sherlock's hand, ignoring the tiny sting of pain in his injured fingers.

“Come, little brother. I think you've waited long enough.”

*****

Why had he refused Sherlock doing this for so long? He couldn’t remember anymore.

This was bliss.

They were lying on his big bed, naked except for their pants, touching each other, kissing, hands and mouths everywhere, fingertips probing at nipples, stroking hairy respectively smooth chests - two panting men, completely lost in their loving embrace.

He would have expected Sherlock to immediately take hold of his fully erect cock but so far Sherlock had just brushed over the still clothed bulge, paying more attention to his thighs, his arse and his back while kissing the living daylights out of him.

He got both calmer and more excited with every moment. This wasn't wrong. This wasn't a boy who didn’t know his own mind. Sherlock had gone through hell so many times and come back a changed man each time. He had been shaped and sharpened, not only physically, the scars on his chest and back speaking of the violence he had endured nevertheless. He was a man in every sense of the word and he knew what he wanted.

“I want you,” he mumbled against Mycroft's lips now, and it was Mycroft who slipped Sherlock's pants over his arse, touching his soft, warm skin there, and then Sherlock wiggled out of them and the next moment he was freeing Mycroft's from his own, staring at his massive appendage with so much hunger that he looked like a predator. And he was and had always been, and hadn't Mycroft liked to be his prey, no matter how much he'd protested?

He definitely liked it now and to hell with social norms and stupid laws. This was right because it was right for them. This was a love – and yes, it was love, romance, partnership, whatever people might call it – a love that would forever have to bloom in the dark, their secret but it didn’t feel dirty. It was a secret because external circumstances forced it to be a secret but that didn’t mean it was wrong.

And he groaned when Sherlock's long fingers wrapped around his bare cock for the first time, stroking up and down reverently.

“You lied,” Sherlock mumbled. “It did still grow.”

Mycroft chuckled. “No it didn’t! It's just harder than ever before…”

“That's good, right?”

“Very good…”

Then Sherlock bent over it and licked a stripe over the engorged head, moaning at the taste and Mycroft almost passed out. “Oh God, do that again!”

Sherlock winked at him but he didn’t do it. Instead he took the head into his mouth and probingly sucked at it and this time Mycroft might have passed out for real for a moment. His hand reached out to stroke Sherlock's cheek, his thumb rubbing over a sharp cheekbone. Sherlock gave him a cross-eyed look and then he slid his fingertips over Mycroft's hairy balls, making him moan deep in his throat and Sherlock smiled knowingly around his cock.

“I can't… last much longer…” he mumbled, feeling his climax already starting to build up.

Sherlock hummed around his cock and didn’t cease his ministrations, instead taking him deeper into his mouth, and Mycroft realised that he was chasing this, chasing his completion to devour it, to devour him and the proof of his desire for Sherlock.

Sherlock barely flinched when half a minute later he bucked up and climaxed down his brother's throat, the orgasm ripping through his body painfully strongly.

He collapsed into the pillows but then he grabbed Sherlock's upper arm and pulled at it. “Now you,” he mumbled, glad he could get at least two coherent words out of his mouth.

A moment later Sherlock straddled his chest and dipped his own impressive member into Mycroft's open mouth. His taste was sweet and infatuating and Mycroft closed his eyes in pleasure when he started sucking him.

It didn’t take long and Mycroft eagerly swallowed Sherlock's release, his hands digging into Sherlock's hips to stabilise him and then his brother pulled his softening cock, licked clean and still twitching, out of his mouth to lie down across him.

For a moment neither of them spoke, the sentiments too heavy and too wonderful to put them in words.

Mycroft stroked over Sherlock's slightly sweaty curls. “I'm so glad you came tonight.”

“Me too…” Sherlock chuckled and Mycroft playfully slapped his arm.

“Indecent boy.”

“I am. Always was. For you. Because of you.”

“True. I love you, little brother. Thanks for never ceasing to want me, no matter how stupid I was.”

“You've never been stupid. You've been my protector. But you didn’t have to protect me from yourself.”

And finally Mycroft had understood this, too.

He was Sherlock's and Sherlock was his.

He could see the faint lights of dawn through the not completely closed curtains. Today he would have to justify himself for the mayhem Eurus had caused last night. He would have to inform their parents about the fact that her daughter was still alive but incarcerated as she was a monster. He would, without a doubt, be yelled at and condemned but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

Sherlock lifted his head to kiss him and he lovingly kissed him back. This was what mattered.


End file.
